


time and tide

by monstermash



Series: the crown hangs heavy on either side [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: @bioware give us dwarf romance options you cowards, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Inquisitor - Freeform, Pining, Purple Hawke, With a bit of Blue, lbr varric should've been a romance option for hawke, tagging the inquisitor because they show up often enough in the beginning of certain chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpieceAnd now you're tearing through the pages and the ink





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i've been doomed to write fics for uncommon dragon age ships lmao
> 
> also happy new year, here's hoping 2018 will be good

His skin itches with the sensation of being watched. Of course it’s nothing sinister – well, he really hopes it isn’t – because it’s just Aveline looking at him every now and then, like he’s a puzzle or something.

“Got something to say, o captain, my captain?”

“Why are you still here, Varric?” Aveline asks, seemingly out of the blue, as they follow Hawke through the busy crowd of Lowtown’s bazaar while they wait for night to fall and for Huon to show up at the alienage. He wonders what is it with blood mages and clichés like committing shifty acts in the dark of night or in the sewers.

“Starkhaven's too pretentious for me and Cumberland's too boring,” Varric answers without missing a beat. 

“You always say you hate commitment, but here you are, six years later, still at Hawke's side.” 

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and nope, no way. Aveline’s got this smug half smile on her face like she _knows,_ but he’s been so careful about it so there’s no way she could possibly know. Unless he’s been _too_ careful about it, which in that case… Well, _shit._

He’s already got a healthy fear of her, she does _not_ need to kick that up a notch.

“Aveline, I thought you'd have noticed by now: I lie a lot.”

The words were meant to take away any sort of suspicion, but if anything they only seem to encourage her.

“Perhaps,” she concedes with a slight nod, amusement tinging her voice. “But I’ve known you for years now Varric and if nothing else there’s always one thing I know I can trust you’ll tell the truth about, whether or not you admit it aloud.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

This time when Varric looks at her, he sees her smile is no longer smug, but… Happy? Proud? He can’t tell. He looks in the direction Aveline nods in and sees Hawke talking with a stall vendor, grin on his face as he’s undoubtedly saying something ridiculous.

“I know you can’t lie about what you feel for him.”

\---  
\---

Garrett hadn’t slept in days.

The near constant storms and keeping an eye out to make sure the dozens of others in the ship’s hold didn’t try to steal from his family or Aveline didn’t allow his mind to rest. He ought to sleep, at least for a few hours, and let Aveline take a turn on watch like she’d offered, but he knew he’d just lie awake on the hard wooden floor, staring at the sky through the bars of the hatch above them.

(That and any time he closed his eyes for longer than a minute he’d just see Bethany being grasped in a giant fist and beaten against the earth like a ragdoll and he can’t watch that again. He won’t.)

So he stays awake.

Garrett Hawke stays awake in the overcrowded hold for as long as he can and tries not to think much about anything at all.

(There's a void in his chest that seems to make even sunlight feel cold on his skin.)

\---

The sound of the gulls shrieking heralds their arrival into Kirkwall. 

Garrett remembers his father telling him and his siblings about this place, the Gallows. 

It wouldn’t look half bad if it didn’t have all of those weeping and tormented, larger than life, bronze statues of slaves everywhere. Maybe Kirkwall should hire someone to redecorate, because the Gallows looks absolutely depressing, and that’s not even taking the other desperate refugees into consideration for the current view of the place.

“They’re not letting anyone into the city,” Aveline notes as they make their way down the docks towards the gates. Well, a set of gates. That was another thing the Gallows had too much of besides the statues. Gates every five feet and set up like cages and it’s oddly reminiscent of the kennels back in Ferelden.

“What? That can’t be,” his mother says, slight panic in her face. He doesn’t blame her; if they don’t let them in there’s nowhere else for them to go really. But panicking isn’t going to help them right now.

“It’s true. Look at them all,” Aveline gestures to the ever growing crowd.

“Are we really surprised?” Carver asks their mother. “Everyone’s fleeing the Blight, just as we are.”

He’s not wrong; there are more refugees than there is cargo coming into port.

“And they would just throw us all back to the wolves. Unbelievable,” Aveline says with a frown.

“I’m only surprised they let us dock,” Garrett comments.

“We need to find Gamlen. Our family has always been highly regarded in Kirkwall. He can do something I’m sure of it,” their mother says, a spark of hope in her voice. At least her nerves seem to have calmed.

“Let’s hope he received your letter,” Carver says, crossing his arms as he looks at the crowd that appears to be growing more and more agitated.

“The guards seem to be reporting to that man,” Aveline points out. “Perhaps we should speak with him.”

\---

They spend three days waiting for Gamlen to show up.

Apparently all he has is uncertain news.

“Then there’s no hope,” his mother states, looking about ready to give up completely.

“Not quite,” Gamlen interjects, “I know some people who might help… if you’re not too delicate about the company you keep.”

“Let’s hear it, Uncle. What did you have in mind?” Garrett asks before his mother could kick up too much of a fuss.

“I talked to my contacts and I found some people who might be willing to pay your way into the city. The catch is you and your brother will have to work off that debt. For a year.”

“A year!” Leandra exclaims in disbelief, anger starting to cloud her face. Oh this is going to end poorly if he doesn’t step in.

“It’s the best I could do! Trust me when I say a bunch of refugees won’t get a better option anywhere else.” Gamlen defends.

Honestly, a year doesn’t sound too bad. There are worse options.

“So what’s a year? I’m sure we’ll be free and clear before we know it,” Garrett remarks with an easy grin and a shrug. It doesn’t bother him, (he knows it won’t bother Carver too much either, even if his little brother will complain about it) because really, there truly are worse options out there. 

Like running from darkspawn.

And really, a year working off debt will be a lot more pleasant than dealing with the Blight, however long it might last.

Garrett doesn’t envy whoever has to deal with the Archdemon. 

\---

The year goes by fast and slow simultaneously. 

It’s mostly slow going in the beginning, time seeming to drag on longer than it should.

His mother doesn’t look him in the eye for the first two months. Garrett doesn’t blame her, he knows why she can’t. It’s the same reason why he avoids his own gaze in the reflection of the spider web cracked mirror in the mornings.

He has his father’s brown eyes, the same eyes that Bethany had too, and it really is too much to see them reflected back at him. In truth, Garrett envies Carver a bit; his little brother has the Amell blue eyes so he doesn’t relive their father’s quiet passing or Bethany’s unnecessarily violent death as often just by looking in a mirror.

It gets worse for a time when he’s tired all the time, his eyes looking dead and he gets flashes of a flickering candle and blood in the dirt. 

(If he takes a few moments practicing a lopsided grin in the mirror to make sure it doesn’t look forced, well, that’s a secret between himself and the mirror.)

He’s taken on more work for Athenril; Aveline is having a bit of trouble adjusting to smuggler’s work so Garrett takes more of the responsibility onto his shoulders. Besides, Aveline had been thinking of joining the city guard and he knows that she’ll do well there and actually enjoy the job.

That doesn’t stop her from objecting when he takes on her workload.

He waves it off with a grin and a, “Aveline, please, you look like you’re going to strangle our clients and that’s not good for business. Can’t get much repeat business if they’ve all got wrung necks.”

Aveline narrows her eyes at him and he knows that she sees through the jokes, but he can be just as stubborn as her when he wants to be. She sighs and claps his shoulder and that’s that.

\---

“No,” Bartrand grits out as he heads for the Dwarven Merchants Guild office, the Hawke brothers trailing behind him through the bustling streets of Hightown. “Andraste’s tits, human! You know how many people want to hire onto this expedition?”

The brothers share an exasperated look before Carver rolls his eyes and speaks up.

“Look, we know you’re going into the Deep Roads. You’ll need to hire the best and we’re—”

“No,” Bartrand repeats, coming to a stop in front of one of the replicated Paragon statues that lined the guild’s courtyard, looking even more agitated with them than he had moments ago, “You’re too late! Already done!”

“The money from this trip could fix everything! You need us. We’ve fought darkspawn!”

Bartrand rubs his forehead his voice less harsh now that they’re in front of the guild. “Look, precious, I don’t care if you tore the horns off an ogre with your bare hands.”

Carver turns to Garrett, clearly frustrated now. At least he knows his temper is getting the better of him at the moment and is trying to not completely blow their chances and deferring to him, no matter how much he knows his little brother hates to.

“You make him understand! We’re running from your bloody templars!”

Garrett sighs inwardly. 

“My brother has a point,” he says, stepping forward to speak with Bartrand. “It’s on his head, but it’s still valid.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Carver grumbles behind him.

_Anytime, little brother._

“So what about it, Bartrand? We’re just what you need.”

The dwarf appraises him with a careful and wary eye, as if Garrett might grow another head if he isn’t watching. “You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums, right? You and every other Ferelden in this dump. Find another meal ticket.”

Bartrand walks off into the guild without looking back. Well, so much for that. They probably would’ve had a better chance if they’d applied sooner, but they had still been working off their debt to Athenril and had only been released from their contract a few days ago.

“Well, back to waiting for someone to turn us in,” Carver comments idly.

“You can relax. After all, the templars dogging us are ‘mine.’”

Carver winces slightly and his expression twists a bit with shame. “Did I sound that bad? Maker, I’m turning into Gamlen.”

“A little, but trust me, you’re nowhere even close to turning into Gamlen. You’d need a decade’s worth of gambling debts first,” Garrett says, clapping him on the shoulder as they head back towards Lowtown.

Carver snorts.

“Gamlen. He’s got the head for this garbage. Maybe he can talk to Bartrand. He knows some people. After last week, we need all the coin we can get,” his brother points out.

“You catch more flies with honey,” Garrett quips, “but Gamlen’s bullshit could work too.”

“Well, he did get us into the city, right?” Carver shrugs, face looking grim. “What else can we do? We’re losing ground, and I don’t fancy waking up in the Gallows.”

Garrett doesn’t know what to say to that.

A raggedy looking red haired man bumps into his right side as they’re leaving, briefly gripping Garrett’s shoulder before running off. Garrett stops immediately and checks his pocket. The pouch containing what little coin they had left is gone.

He turns on his heel and shouts, “Hey!” at the pickpocket’s back and gives chase.

There’s a strange mechanical sound, similar to a crank being turned before a loud twang goes off and the pickpocket is pinned to a wall by what looks like a crossbow bolt through his shoulder.

“I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you. But you? You don’t have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchants’ Guild,” a dwarf with a strange looking crossbow says to the pickpocket, hand held out for the bag of money. 

“Might want to find yourself a new line of work,” the dwarf advises the thief before landing a solid blow, knocking the man out and retrieving the bolt from the man’s shoulder. “Off you go.”

Garrett catches the coin pouch when the dwarf tosses it to him.

“How do you do? Varric Tethras at your service,” Varric introduces himself, twirling the slightly bloody crossbow bolt around his fingers. “I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him in the jaw.”

“But you would?” Garrett asks with a wry grin.

“I would,” Varric answers with a grin of his own. “What my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it, either – he’s too proud. I, however, am quite practical.”

“What makes you so certain we can help? You know nothing about us.”

“Oh, on the contrary – you’ve made quite the name for yourself over the last year. The Coterie has been squeezing smugglers out left and right, and the only group to survive owes it all to you two. The name ‘Hawke’ is on many lips these days. Not bad for a Fereldan fresh off the boat.”

“You’re going awfully far out of your way just to hire another guard,” Garrett comments, a bit of suspicion easing into his stomach. If working for smugglers has taught him anything, it’s to be even more wary of people than he usually is.

“We don’t need another hireling – we need a partner,” Varric corrects him. “The truth is, Bartrand’s been tearing his beard out trying to fund this on his own, but he can’t do it. Invest in the expedition. Fifty sovereigns, and he can’t refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you.”

“I hope there’s more to this. Like how I’m supposed to get that much coin together.”

“You need to think big! There’s only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won’t be crawling with darkspawn. The treasure you find down there could set your family up for life!”

“Come on, the dwarf makes some sense. No offense. Look, you started this – and it’s a good idea. Certainly better than ending up in the Gallows,” Carver speaks up.

“We work together, you and I, and before you know it, you’ll have all the capital you need. What do you say?”

Garrett sighs, because when he thinks about, Carver and Varric are both right – that and this is really the only plan they have right now.

“Why not? It’s not like I had anything better planned.”

“Perfect! Kirkwall’s crawling with work. You set aside some coin from every job, and you’ll have the money in no time!”

“Sure, easy,” Carver says dryly. “But… maybe Aveline’s got some bounties out. She joined the city guard, right?”

(Garrett and Varric really hit it off on the way to see Aveline, much to Carver's eternal chagrin. The void in his chest doesn't feel as large and the sunlight feels warmer than it has in months whenever Garrett sees Varric grin and hears him laughing.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "never heard of him" gag comes from [here](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Varric_\(short_story\))

“So you’re friends with Anders?” The Inquisitor asks and it throws Varric off with the abruptness of the question.

He stares into the flames in the fireplace and feels that same spark of anger he felt when he saw Kirkwall’s Chantry erupt in a pillar of light and heat, when Anders tried justifying the deaths of the people of Lowtown - and even Darktown - when the debris fell; maybe he'd feel more anger for the deaths of the Chantry members and the Grand Cleric if they'd actually _done_ something, but Varric remembers the years leading up to that moment, how they all sat idly by as Meredith became more and more dangerous, unwilling to _‘rock the boat’_ all for the sake of presenting a flimsy neutral front.

But mostly he remembers the look on Hawke’s face when he realized the hand he unknowingly played, the look of betrayal of being used for his trust and loyalty; Varric’s friendship with Anders had been strained during that year leading up to the explosion, but after the way he’d hurt Hawke there was no doubt in Varric’s mind that nothing could fix his friendship with the rebel mage after that.

“I used to be,” Varric finally answers when he realizes that the Inquisitor is still waiting for him to speak.

“But not anymore?”

He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle.

“No, not anymore.”

“So you wouldn’t know where he is then?”

Varric studies the Inquisitor out of the corner of his eye; it’s difficult to tell sometimes if the Inquisitor is fishing for information or just genuinely curious and wanting to know people better. It seems like the lessons in subterfuge and intrigue with the Nightingale are paying off.

“No, but if I had to hazard a guess he’s either somewhere heckling templars or Vael finally got him,” Varric says, noting the slight bitterness in his tone; he wasn’t exactly happy with Choir-Boy either.

To say he wasn’t still pissed at Sebastian for demanding Hawke _murder_ Anders on the spot and then storming off – while vowing to essentially lay siege to Kirkwall – after Hawke told him no (“If you want to kill him then do it yourself; I’m not being used by my friends to kill anyone else.”) would be a lie. It went without saying that Sebastian wasn’t on Varric’s Satinalia card list at the moment.

The Inquisitor hums in response and says nothing more as they sit in front of the roaring flames and go back to working on their respective paperwork.

(Varric is quietly relieved that the Inquisitor has stopped asking questions about Anders; truthfully he really doesn’t know where the rebel mage is and quite honestly he really doesn’t want to know.)

(However, Varric does know where Hawke is – where he has been this entire time – and is grateful that the Inquisitor hasn’t asked about the Champion of Kirkwall because then Varric might accidentally let something slip. Like despite how much he loves Kirkwall he loved travelling with Hawke even more or how much it pained Varric to leave him, only to be found by Cassandra when he had returned to Kirkwall briefly.)

Varric gets lost in memories of dark brown eyes and broad grins instead of doing work.

The Inquisitor says nothing but allows a small smile to curl on their face as their friend lets out a nearly silent longing sigh, completely unaware he’s done so.

\---  
\---

Garrett slumps forward, resting his weight on his forearms, and kicks his feet up onto the bench on the other side of the table and lets the noise of the Hanged Man wash over him.

It had been a long 14 hours that had ended with Kirkwall’s former guard captain being fired and Aveline being promoted. 

Not quite how he expected things to go, but it wasn’t too bad.

Though now he has the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to end up with more than a few enemies in Kirkwall, the former guard captain being one of them.

“Here,” Varric says as he takes a seat opposite of him, handing over a tankard of ale. “I figured you could use a drink.”

“That obvious?” Garrett asks with a smirk as he takes the drink from his new friend who rolls his eyes at him.

“Obvious like someone playing Diamondback for the first time,” he quips before turning a bit more serious. “So, here’s the thing: we need a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we’re down there, but we need a good entrance.”

“Any entrance would do, wouldn’t it? Unless a dragon’s sitting in it, I suppose,” Garrett trails off as he remembers how Flemeth had been able to shift into a dragon’s form. He wonders if he’d be able to teach himself how to do that.

“We need an entrance that’s close to our destination but isn’t already plundered or filled with darkspawn. Fortunately I’ve received some new information.” Varric pulls out a deck of cards and starts shuffling it when a waitress passes by and dealing out as he continues. “There’s a Grey Warden in the city. If anyone knows how to get down there, it’ll be him.”

“Are there any other options?” Garrett asks as he looks at the hand that he’s been dealt. He’s got a middling hand; two serpents and two knights.

Varric lets out a weary sigh as he discards one and draws another.

“None at the moment. Bartrand had an entrance lined up, but it was a bust. I’ll keep looking, but if we don’t find something, we’ll have a fancy expedition with nowhere to go.”

“Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric,” he tells him with a smirk as he discards as well and draws another; three serpents and two knights. Should he discard both knights?

“And that, messere, is why I’m here,” Varric says with an exaggerated bow causing Garrett to snort. “Supposedly, this Grey Warden came in with some other Ferelden refugees not long ago. A Lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the Fereldans. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is.”

Garrett hums in response, finally deciding to discard his two knights, only to end up with a song and an angel in their stead. 

They play round after round of Wicked Grace for a long while, trading quips and stories (Garrett nearly chokes on his ale when Varric tells him about the time someone had hired a group of traveling minstrels to follow Bartrand around and to all the trouble it had led to), and he has a difficult time containing his laughter every time a messenger comes looking for Varric only to be met with the entire bar answering with “Never heard of him” in perfect unison.

“I’ll keep after my contacts – see if I can drum up any other work.” Varric says when they part ways.

\---

Garrett sleeps better that night than he has since before coming to Kirkwall.

No dreams of swarming darkspawn or of Lothering burning or of death rattles by candlelight or of cold sunlight stained red.

Just… dreamless rest for the first time in about a year.

When he catches his reflection in the mirror his eyes don’t look quite so lifeless and it brings a real smile to his face.

(Garrett has to pinch himself to keep from grinning too much when he thinks about why that may be. It’s too soon for him to be getting all head over heels for anyone, but he knows himself well enough to recognize the signs. He’s always been one to fall hard and fast.)

(Hopefully it won’t bite him in the ass this time.)

\---

“Only Fereldan Grey Wardens I’ve heard of are the ones sitting on the throne,” Lirene tells them when they start their search the next day. She looks at them – specifically Garrett – with a wary eye. “We’re out of the Blight’s path now. Why would you need a Warden?”

Before he can speak another voice pipes up.

“The healer was one of them once, wasn’t he? A Warden?”

Lirene shoots a withering glare at the woman, causing her to shrink back sheepishly.

“Well, he’s not now. And busy enough without answering fool questions about it.”

“Then I’ll only ask very smart questions,” Garrett says with a pleasant smile. He’d rather not cause a scene; he just wants to know where they can find this Grey Warden and leave.

“I do not _joke,_ serah,” Lirene says, directing her glare onto him now. “You see what our people face in Kirkwall. They have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He’s closed their wounds, delivered their children.”

“And yet he needs to hide?” Aveline questions, suspicion and something else warring in her tone. Pity, perhaps?

“He’s a good man. I won’t lose him to the blighted templars.” Lirene looks like she wants to spit just for saying ‘templar.’

“Lose him to the templars? I take it he’s a mage then?” Garrett’s honestly surprised that this Grey Warden has managed to evade the templars for this long if he’s about so brazenly.

“Would I stick my neck out for some purveyor of hensbane and leeches?” she asks with a hostile enough tone that Garrett holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Oh, perish the thought. Another delicate mage flower,” Carver says under his breath and then coughing when Varric elbows him. Garrett sighs internally; he loves his brother, he really does, but sometimes Carver can’t keep his mouth shut. However, it seems like Lirene either hasn’t heard Carver’s remark or she just doesn’t care.

“He doesn’t want to be locked up in the Gallows just for using the gifts the Maker gave him.”

“I can hardly blame him,” Garrett replies.

“I suppose it isn’t my secret to keep,” Lirene sighs wearily as she goes back to handing out supplies to the other refugees. “Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. Refugees in Darktown know – to find the healer, look for the lit lantern. If you have need enough, Anders will be within.”

Garrett looks at his companions and shrugs when Lirene tells them nothing more.

Darktown though… that explains why this Anders has gone so long without being discovered. No one wants to go to Darktown, not even templars. Garrett and Carver are familiar enough with the smuggler tunnels that are connected to the area, but if Garrett’s being honest he doesn’t care much for the place; it smells worse than the Hanged Man and it’s more dangerous than the wilderness surrounding Kirkwall.

Garrett follows the others out of the overcrowded storefront, stopping momentarily to toss in the few remaining sovereigns he has into the donations box (silver will be enough to get them by for now) and nearly stumbles in his step when he looks up to see Varric watching with a curious look on his face.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything – even if he had any idea of what to say – as a group of rather angry looking refugees comes up to them.

“Hey! We heard you in there. Asking about the healer. We know what happens to mages in this town. And it ain’t gonna happen to him.”

Carver steps forward with a scowl; Carver’s refusal to be intimidated by anyone has been something Garrett’s always admired about his brother, despite the fact that it’s gotten them into trouble more often than out of it.

“You want him safe? Don’t pick fights with other Fereldans while the templars are after us all!”

“Fereldan?” the man seems taken aback, looking over them all once more. “But… you, your clothes… I figured you for a Kirkwaller. Sorry. Maker bless the rule of our King Alistair.”

The man bows and leads the other refugees away.

“Good job saving our hides,” Garrett says with a grin, clapping Carver on the shoulder. His brother rolls his eyes.

“Aren’t I always?”

(They do end up finding the Grey Warden - Anders - and Garrett will be the first to admit that he hadn't been expecting Anders to have a... _tag along,_ so to speak. This was also the first time he's ever met a Tranquil. Garrett's always known of them, his father had told him and his siblings about the Circles and what went on in them, but he's not sure any amount of second-hand accounts could've prepared him for the quiet horror of it all. If he spends another evening at the Hanged Man in Varric's company, wildly swinging between trying to work through it internally or doing his best to ignore it, well, could anyone really blame him?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to keep a decent pace cuz if i don't i know i'll get way too ahead of myself, but i also picture hawke as someone who really does fall hard and fast (lmao, 2-3 days is probably his new record)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry for the wait. i had some trouble with writing the second half of this chapter, but i finally decided to just post it as is becuz i was getting tired of looking at it and having it sit in my drafts
> 
> also here's a [playlist](https://8tracks.com/edmunderson/time-and-tide) for this work now

“I'd assumed you'd go up to Weisshaupt with Hawke, Varric,” Dorian says as they follow the Inquisitor through the towering trees of the Emerald Graves.

“Still business to deal with here, don't you think?” he asks in return. Under different circumstances Varric, without a doubt in his mind, would’ve left with Hawke, but well… the circumstances are what they are, and he’s never really been one to leave things unfinished.

Dorian chuckles.

“You should be thankful. I've been to Weisshaupt. It's not good. Carved into a mountain, cold, dour, everyone so bloody serious they can't take a piss... you wouldn't like it.”

The way he describes it – and from what Varric has heard about it from others – yeah, he wouldn’t exactly be having the time of his life there, but…

“Hawke would be there.”

That would be enough. More than enough really. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that he’d put up with a lot of things he hates so long as Hawke was right there beside him. In fact, he has. After what happened in Kirkwall, after Meredith turned into lyrium, Varric and Hawke pretty much lived in the wilderness of the Free Marches for almost two months to avoid being found.

And Varric has never kept quiet about his distaste for the outdoors, so the fact that he went with Hawke instead of to some other Free March city says a lot.

“And he is quite the ray of sunshine, that's true,” Dorian replies with a knowing smile that just causes Varric to roll his eyes at the mage.

Yeah, yeah, he knows he’s not being subtle, but after that fight with Cassandra and after what happened at Adamant, he’d like to think that perhaps he can be excused.

Besides, it’s not like the rest of the inner circle are all that subtle about their own romantic entanglements.

\---  
\---

Garrett woke with a start, chest heaving and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Judging by the light streaming in through the small, high window of the tiny room he shares with Carver, it was barely past sun up.

He slumps back onto the straw pallet of his bunk with an exhausted sigh.

_It was only a dream,_ he thinks to himself, trying to calm his heart that was currently pounding away behind his ribs, eyes squeezed shut. _It was only a dream._

Eventually it does and he opens his eyes, staring at the water stained ceiling and trying to decide if that’s mold growing in the corner or not. Garrett thinks about trying to go back to sleep, but decides not to when he can hear Carver snoring away on the bunk below him.

There’s no point trying to sleep when the snoring starts.

That and Garrett is finally noticing the hushed argument coming from the other room.

Thin walls and all that.

Instead of swinging himself down from his bed like he usually would he carefully lowers himself down, so as not to wake Carver or alert his mother and Gamlen to his approach.

“My children have been in servitude – _servitude_ – for a year. They should be nobility!”

“If wishes were poppy, we’d all be dreaming.”

Garrett sighs as he drags his hands down in face in exasperation. Great, more damage control. He briefly wonders if his mother and Gamlen had always been like this or if they only brought this behavior out in each other.

He quickly pinches his cheek to scold himself before he walks into the main room with a charming smile and relaxed manner.

“You mean, this is real? No wonder I can’t wake up,” Garrett says before either of them could say anything snide to the other. Better they say something snide to him instead of angering each other.

“And here I thought the Fereldan you ran off with was a mage, not a jester,” Gamlen directs to his mother before directing his attention back to Garrett. “Your mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet, and instead she ran off with some Fereldan apostate. You don’t get to stay the favorite when you do that.”

Garrett’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He’d always known that his parents had run away from Kirkwall, but he’d always assumed it was because of the templars. He hadn’t realized that his mother had been engaged to someone else before his father.

“Where is father’s will?” his mother demands, not to be thrown off by her brother’s words. “If I could just see it for myself–”

“It’s not here, all right! It was read, it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again,” Gamlen interrupts.

Garrett’s eyes narrow at his uncle; Gamlen was hiding something.

“That touched a nerve. What’s in there that you don’t want us to see?” Garrett questions, his gaze unwavering.

“Nothing! But you won’t be seeing the bloody thing. It’s still locked up on the estate. And that’s long out of my hands.”

“What daft bastard leaves that behind?” Carver asks from the doorway, clearly disgruntled about having been woken up. 

Gamlen bristles at the insult.

“It was old news,” Gamlen grits out. “You think I’ve been sitting here for twenty-five years waiting for Leandra to slink back?”

“Who bought the estate, Gamlen? Perhaps I can speak to them. Was it the Reinhardts?” his mother tries again. 

Garrett will admit that, for as cantankerous as his uncle is the man is like a steel trap with information. Unless it benefits him to divulge it, there’s not a lot to make him talk.

“No one you know. Get used to Lowtown, sister. That’s where we’re going to stay,” Gamlen sneers and then leaves the house to do Maker knows what.

With a huff their mother returns to her own room.

“Maker, what a mess. I want to make things better for mother, but some of what Gamlen says… I’m having a hard time hating him. Playing caretaker for someone else’s life, stuck in their shadow… that’s no way to live,” Carver says as he sinks down into a rickety chair at the table and Garrett’s jaw clenches.

He doesn’t know what he ever did to make his brother resent him so, wishes Carver would just tell him outright so that he could make it right or at least attempt to, but sometimes… sometimes the attitude just drove Garrett up the wall.

Now is one of those times.

“And there it is.”

Carver sighs and for once, backs off with his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Look, if you want to join the fight of who lost the most, fine. But I never lived here. Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something. But I didn’t know grandfather. Finding his will doesn’t matter to me,” Carver says, handing the key over.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter all that much to Garrett either. He just wants their mother and Gamlen to quit being at each other’s throats all the damn time.

“True enough, but mother won’t drop the subject until she sees it for herself. The least we can do is give her some sort of closure on the matter,” Garrett says and then with a grin adds, “Besides, you want a connection, this is where we’ll find it.”

“The once mighty Amells?” his brother scoffs. “A bunch of slavers are squatting on that dusty glory.”

Slavers? In Kirkwall? Garrett must be out of the loop because this is the first he’s heard of slavers being in Kirkwall.

“What have you heard?”

“Uncle’s a chatty drunk.” Ah yes, one of the few ways to get information out of Gamlen. “He was up to his neck and signed everything over. That’s who has the estate. Apparently the most extensive wine cellar in Kirkwall is now a slave highway from the Undercity. That’s the family legacy.”

“That sounds like an arrangement that needs to change.”

“And what if it does? We still aren’t important enough to actually live in the place,” Carver points out.

“Baby steps, Carver.”

“All right, brother. If the key works, we’ll clear the estate from the Undercity up.

\---

Varric seems to appear out nowhere, falling into step with them as they pass the Hanged Man on their way to Darktown.

“It’s terrifying how well you do that, you know. One of these days you’re going to give someone a heart attack,” Garrett says wryly.

There’s a mischievous glint in the dwarf’s eyes, but before he can reply Aveline joins them and then Garrett is explaining the plan about evicting the slavers.

\---

The retrieved will led to some revelations that didn’t really mean much to Garrett or Carver, but meant a lot to their mother.

“When I told your grandmother I was marrying your father, she threatened to disown me,” his mother says when he sits down next to her in front of the fire. “She said my children would be mongrels. My father wanted to lock me in, but she told him, _“It’s her life. Let her ruin it.””_

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the quiet of the odious house.

“I wrote to her when each of you were born. She never wrote back. I’m glad she didn’t die hating me,” she says with a soft smile Garrett hasn’t seen since before his father passed away. “When I was a girl, your grandmother was the young, beautiful, noble mother all my friends wished they had. She might have had a hard time accepting it at first, but she would have loved you. All three of you.”

His mother lapses into silence once more and Garrett briefly thinks of how different life would’ve been had he and his siblings known his grandparents, if his parents had found a way to evade the templars without leaving Kirkwall instead of fleeing to Ferelden.

Garrett doesn’t think he would’ve enjoyed it much, being a little lord, and decides he wouldn’t trade this life for that one, but then Bethany would probably still be alive in that other, foreign life and he feels a stab of guilt.

“Oh, Bethany… She was such a sweet girl. Never cried… just looked at you with those big brown eyes,” his mother says barely above a whisper, tears welling in her eyes.

“Bethany would want you to move on, mother. Be happy about what we have,” Garrett tries to console, but that’s never been his strong suit; it had been Bethany’s.

“I just keep thinking there’s something we could’ve done. It’s killing me. I – I remember that awful creature reaching down and – Eighteen years of loving and feeding and raising and… that was it.”

Garrett swallows thickly, wishing she would stop, he remembers that day perfectly because his dreams won’t let him forget.

The once fertile soil of Lothering turned dry and cracking, poisoned by the Blight’s touch, the cold sunlight, the smell of blood and decay thick in the air, the ground quaking with the ogre’s heavy steps, the sound of bones cracking, Bethany’s head lolling at an unnatural angle -- _stop, stop thinking about it, pull yourself together!_

The words _“This is your fault!”_ rattle in his skull.

He’s drawn out of his spiral when a hand rests on his arm.

“I’m sorry, love. I was… distraught. I never really believed that. It’s just… I – I miss her. There were four of us when the Blight began. It will never be over while there are just three,” his mother says, hesitation and faltering words that could easily be chalked up to grief.

But she doesn’t look him in the eye and he knows.

He knows she’s lying; while she might not blame him as much as she had at the time, the fact of it is that Bethany’s death will always be on his shoulders in his mother’s eyes.

Garrett isn’t upset about it.

He blames himself too.

\---

Garrett heads to the Hanged Man after the little heart-to-heart with his mother.

Carver had left shortly after they presented the will to her. More than likely he’s playing cards with Varric and Anders and their new friend Isebela.

It isn’t long before he’s crossing the threshold and into the crowded bar to the table the group has claimed, though it’s only Varric and Carver there; a quick glance towards the bar itself shows Anders getting a round of drinks (he probably lost the previous game of cards) and Isabela flirting with one of the waitresses… Yvette he thinks?

“Hello, _Lord_ Carver,” Garrett says to his brother when he makes it to the table, nodding at Varric in greeting.

“We’re still a long way from cowing templars with our titles, brother.”

Garrett sighs as he takes the seat in between Varric and Carver, picking up the discarded hand of cards. Based on what’s there he can’t tell if it was Isabela’s or Anders’. He’s not even sure which game they’re playing. “You could slap on a smile for a couple of days. For her sake.”

Carver scoffs.

“She’s not interested in what I think. She wants to provide for us, and you’re making sure it happens. And when we’re done, I don’t know. I guess we’ll sit around thinking about how great we used to be?” his brother says mockingly as he places a card face up. Ah, so they’re playing Dead Man’s Tricks. “Mother didn’t even want that life back until we got dumped here. And you only care because we’re under Templar scrutiny.”

Garrett places two cards face down while Varric only places one.

He sighs internally, feeling the beginnings of a stress induced migraine coming on; the past few days Carver’s practically been on a hair trigger with his temper, more than usual. 

“You hating everything I do is really starting to lose its charm,” Garrett says with a flat tone.

“Sure, make light. Why take anything seriously? You’re the oldest, you lead by default.” Carver turns over the middle card; six of serpents.

“I don’t see you taking the reins.”

“When should I do that? When I’m following you around, or when I’m caring for mother while you tame mighty Kirkwall?”

Carver places down another card face up.

“Besides, we both know what happens when someone leaves dear brother’s protection,” Carver sneers, looking Garrett directly in the eyes. “I’m sure Bethany would appreciate that you’re keeping your good humor.”

And that’s – well, Garrett knows he said he wanted Carver to be forthright with him, but he regrets that now.

Garrett closes his eyes when he feels the sting of tears wanting to escape. His jaw clenches for a brief moment and then his eyes are open again, looking right back at Carver. He can feel Varric looking at both of them, but saying nothing.

_Don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me,_ Garrett thinks but doesn’t say.

“Fun’s fun, but you’re taking this pissing match a little too far.”

“What, you don’t like someone making a joke out of everything you are?” Carver snaps at him.

“I don’t see the humor in digging up Bethany so you can hide behind her, too,” Garrett bites back, and he knows he’s hitting a nerve, but how senseless must Carver be to bring up Bethany like this? Thankfully there’s still some sense left in Carver since he looks away, shame burning his ears. Garrett waits to see if his brother has anything else to say. When he doesn’t, Garrett tosses his cards onto the table and gets up. “Well, good talk.”

He leaves without looking back and misses the conversation that follows.

\---

Varric sighs and fixes Carver with a serious look. “You know, Junior, you’re looking at this all wrong.”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, I’m not interested.”

“I'm a professional younger brother. Trust me; the center of attention's the worst place to be. When things go wrong, and they always do, that's where all the fingers point. Look at any kingdom in Thedas. You've got people who warm thrones, and people nobody sees who do the real work.”

“So my brother is a king now? Just what he needed,” Carver grumbles, face looking sour.

“Point. Missing it. Ah well.”

Varric gets up from his seat as well, putting his coat back on.

“Oh, and a word to the wise; if you really want to make something of yourself, stop using your brother as an excuse. The only person comparing you to him is yourself.”

And with that Varric is out the door as well.

\---

Garrett was about halfway to the Gallows – to find out more about the letters he had found with his grandfather’s will, not because he got caught – when Varric catches up with him.

“Any chance I can convince you to skip the Gallows? I’ve had my fill of oppression for the day, thanks.”

He huffs out a laugh at his friend, but continues on this self-given mission. 

He feels bad for snapping at Carver and Garrett’s not supposed to get angry and snap at his family because he’s the family lightning rod; he’s supposed to take the insults and try to keep the others from tearing one another’s throats out by joking about anything and everything under the sun.

(And most of the time he doesn’t mind, just let it slide like water off a duck’s back, but sometimes it’ll strike a tender nerve.)

“Not today, sorry,” Garrett apologizes, no witty remark coming to mind at the moment. He’s surprised when Varric sighs but continues following him. “You don’t have to come with if you really don’t want to.”

“What, and miss you harassing templars? Perish the thought.”

“I only harass templars on Tuesdays. Twice on Feastday.”

\---

The sun has set when Garrett and Varric leave the Gallows, Garrett having gotten answers from a mage named Tobrias and the old letters that were now safely stashed away inside Garrett’s shirt to keep from being confiscated by the templars.

Hopefully this will smooth things over with his brother; Garrett hates it when they fight. And yes, he and his brother fight more often than not, but there’s a difference between fighting and _fighting._

“Was he always like this?” Varric asks as they watch Kirkwall’s silhouette grow closer and closer from where they lean on the ferry’s guardrail.

“What, spiteful towards me? No, not really. I mean, sure, he was a bit of a brat when we were children, but what kid isn’t a bit of a brat at times? I think it mostly has to do with our father,” Garrett says, his eyes still locked on Kirkwall’s lights. “Father ended up spending a lot of time with Bethany and I, because of the whole magic thing, but he always brought Carver along, made sure he felt included. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Carver got it into his head that he wasn’t as wanted as Bethany or me because he wasn’t a mage – which, let’s be honest here, is the furthest thing from the truth – and he suddenly decided that I was the favorite because I’m the oldest and a mage. He mistakes responsibility for favoritism.”

“He does, does he?”

Garrett nods.

“If anything, Carver was father’s favorite just like Bethany was mother’s, no contest. I’m just the runner-up.”

“Well, here’s to pain in the ass siblings and being the second favorites,” Varric says wryly.

Garrett laughs and nudges his friend.

“If it’s any consolation, out of you and your brother, you’re my favorite.”

\---

Originally, Garrett’s plan after disembarking the ferry was to head straight to Carver and show him the old letters, but he and Varric got sidetracked by Anso in Lowtown, which of course led to them tracking down the stolen goods in the Alienage and being joined by Aveline and Isabela along the way. Which in turn turned out to be a trap laid out by slavers, but apparently Garrett and his friends showing up was a trap laid out by an elf named Fenris?

Garrett isn’t all that clear on the details, but if helping out Fenris means getting rid of more slavers that have somehow wormed their way into the city he’ll do it.

They finish clearing out the “abandoned” mansion in Hightown a few hours before dawn and after an awkward conversation with Fenris about Garrett being a mage they all tiredly part ways to rest.

“Do you mind if I go back with you? I’m too tired to deal with Carver right now if he’s still in a snit,” Garrett says around a loud yawn as they make their way back to Lowtown.

“What’s mine is yours, Hawke.”

\---

Garrett would’ve been fine with sleeping on the floor seeing how Varric’s bed didn’t seem like it could really fit both of them, but Varric insisted that it was fine and Garrett wasn’t going to argue with him.

And it’s a good thing Varric was being generous with him because as soon as Garrett’s boots were off he passed out on the soft bed and didn’t wake until well past noon.

(There were butterflies in Garrett’s stomach when he woke, curled up in the blankets, and watched with bleary eyes as Varric wrote at his desk with a furrow in his brow, obviously exasperated with whoever he was writing back to.)

(It was scary how much he wanted to go smooth that furrow out.)

(It was even scarier how he could see himself getting used to waking up to this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love varric, but he's difficult for me to write at times lmao
> 
> also i hope this chapter didn't come across as whump (am i using that word right?) but i view hawke as having a few issues and using humor as a cover for a lot of things. like hawke in general is naturally a funny/witty person but uses it to gloss over things a lot becuz that's the only way he knows how to.
> 
> and as for leandra, she does love hawke, but i figure there's always a small part of her that blames her oldest child for not saving the child she lost during the blight which doesn't really help with the guilt/blame that hawke places on themself, though by act 2 she learns to deal with it/process it better.
> 
> we got at least one more chapter of act 1 guys


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for not updating this in months,,,,,, i swear i haven't forgotten about this fic
> 
> y'all can find me [here](http://edmunderson.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk about dragon age stuff

Ever since the death of Viscount Dumar, things in Kirkwall have been getting more and more tense and unstable at a slow but steady pace.

Varric – and at least half of Kirkwall, if not the entire whole of it – has always known that Knight-Commander Meredith is paranoid, but something seems to have made it worse lately.

More templars out hunting for apostates, more templar raids on peoples’ homes on the suspicion of harboring free mages; it’s pretty much given Aveline an ulcer from the stress and anger at the boundary that has been overstepped repeatedly.

(“They don’t have the jurisdiction! They have to have solid proof or be called in. They can’t just do as they please based on hearsay and drunken stories and paranoia.”)

Meanwhile, Varric fears this is going to give him grey hairs a few decades too early; being close friends with three mages has made him pay even closer attention to the templars movements through his network.

Anders gets by because he still lives in Darktown and Merrill, while she’s learned to be more cautious in the last few years, is still costing Varric a fortune to have others keep the templars off her trail.

He doesn’t worry about Hawke as much (though he still does worry) because he’s the _Champion_ of Kirkwall; Meredith can’t lay a hand on him without half the nobility kicking up a fuss and their little group of misfits busting him out of the Gallows as soon as possible.

(Still, he feels more at ease on the nights when Hawke stays with him in the Hanged Man because this way he at least can see that Hawke is still around in the morning and not spirited away by Meredith in the middle of the night.)

So of course that’s when Kirkwall decides to prove him wrong.

\---  
\---

Garrett leaves the Hanged Man with great reluctance; he didn’t want to overstay his welcome, but he was also dreading having to deal with Carver or trying to calm down another argument between his mother and Gamlen.

The house is thankfully empty when he returns, though now Garrett has to wait and that will just let his nerves build up which is just as bad if not worse. With a heavy sigh, Garrett heads into his and Carver’s room, at a loss as to what to do to kill time. There isn’t much here, just a bunkbed and a lantern atop a barrel, but then Garrett’s sees the small trunk filled with the various things they brought to Kirkwall with them. Perhaps he should try sorting through it? There’s bound to be a lot of junk that they don’t need any more and he might be able to at least get a few copper pieces out of it to put towards paying for the expedition.

Setting the bundle of old letters on the bottom bunk, Garrett gets to work sorting through the trunk; a lot of it is useless, just scraps of fabric or odds and ends, but at the bottom of the trunk, Garrett finds a strange, old amulet of obsidian carved in the shape of a dragon and Garrett drags a hand down his face in complete exasperation with himself.

Oh blazing hells, he’d completely forgotten. Flemeth’s amulet. That he was supposed to deliver to Clan Sabrae as soon as possible. A Maker damned fool he is, just absolutely _typical_ that he’d make a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and then completely forget all about it.

Shoving the amulet into a pocket, Garrett starts packing the trunk back up.

Maybe Flemeth and the Dalish won’t be upset that he’s about a year late on delivering it.

Maybe they won’t even notice.

(They will definitely notice.)

As soon as the trunk is closed again, Garrett hears the front door opening. There’s a fifty-fifty chance it’s either his family or someone trying to break in, this _is_ Lowtown after all.

Poking his head through the bedroom’s doorway reveals it to be Carver, who looks tired and miserable.

“Fun night?” Garrett asks before he can stop himself, wry grin on his face when his little brother jumps at the sound of his voice.

“Maker’s Breath, Garrett. Don’t _do_ that,” Carver hisses, frustration flitting across his face before his expression settles into something more somber. “Look, about last night. I’m sorry. I feel… I don’t know. It’s like mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared. I don’t have a place in the life she is trying to bring back. So I lashed out at you, and that isn’t fair. To you or me.”

Garrett can feel his eyebrows lifting in surprise; he honestly hadn’t been expecting Carver to apologize. His brother sighs, before continuing. “I’m here if you need me, but I must find my own way.”

Huh. Well that’s… new.

No complaints of being stuck in Garrett’s shadow whatsoever.

It’s nice, to not be blamed for something for once.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Carver huffs, fidgeting uncomfortably and oh, right. Garrett should say something. Words, right?

No, wait. The letters. He better show them to Carver before he forgets and loses them at the bottom of the trunk like he did with the amulet.

“Here, I got you something,” Garrett says as he ducks back into the room, scooping up the bundle of letters and coming out into the main room.

“Why?” Carver asks, suspicion coloring his tone as his eyes narrow warily at him. Garrett rolls his eyes and holds out the letters for him to take.

“Don’t get suspicious; I’m not holding you back with generosity. Just have a look.”

Carver takes them, opens one and skims over the writing. “These are by father? Are you sure they aren’t meant for you? I bet another mage could get more out of them.”

Garrett shakes his head at his brother; there he goes again insisting that Garrett was father’s favorite. Taking the letters from Carver’s hands, Garrett flips through them until he finds the right one and hands it back, pointing to a specific passage.

 _“‘For your service that cannot be admitted, I ask that you accept this trinket, and know that I shall respect your name. Thank you, conscience of the order, Ser Maurevar… Carver.’_ Carver?” 

His brother looks at him with something like confused awe and Garrett can’t help but smile. Maybe now Carver will stop doubting that their father loved and cared about him.

“The templar who allowed father to leave Kirkwall. Your namesake,” Garrett confirms.

“A templar? Have we met a templar who isn’t a colossal prig?”

“Well there you go then,” Garrett quips, a smirk on his face and Carver scowls, pretending to be offended.

“I wonder how it compares to yours,” Carver answers in turn, making Garrett laugh.

“I’m sure someone thought far too long about my name. Point is, this was a swordsman.”

Carver looks back at the letter. “A man who let him look ahead. It would always mean _‘skill thoughtfully applied.’_ Not exactly _‘master of all blades,’_ but… father actually thought there was worth to a swordsman.”

There’s a lot Garrett wants to say. _‘Father never said that you had to have magic to make you worthy,’_ or _‘He didn’t love you less than Bethany or I.’_ But it’s also taken him this long to finally get it into Carver’s head and it required written _proof,_ so Garrett keeps his mouth shut for once.

“Thank you, brother. It’s… a connection I didn’t think was there.”

\---

Garrett finds himself back at the Hanged Man later that evening. Today had been a bust looking for more work, though he did get a letter from Athenril. He knows he’d sworn off of doing any more smuggling, though that was mostly so he wouldn’t have to suffer Aveline’s look of disappointment. But then again, they do need the coin for the expedition…

Perhaps he could at least hear what Athenril is proposing? He could also check out the Chanter’s Board by the Chantry; back in Ferelden, there was always a job posted to a Chanter’s Board, but he doesn’t know if it’s different here in Kirkwall. Garrett hasn’t exactly had the time nor the inclination to go to the Chantry up in Hightown. It’s mostly been the Mothers and Sisters and other members of the Chantry asking the already impossibly poor people of Darktown for monetary donations instead of asking the nobles that has left him with a bad taste.

Either way, checking the Chanter’s Board will have to wait for another day. Garrett still has to deliver that amulet to Clan Sabrae and the sooner the better.

The bar is packed, but Garrett doesn’t see any of his friends, which means they’re all either in Varric’s room or off doing their own thing for the night, which is fair; besides, he should probably leave visiting the Dalish clan for tomorrow, during the daytime so he doesn’t have to worry about being ambushed by giant spiders or falling over a rocky slope in the dark.

Garrett knows he’d never hear the end of that.

As soon as he steps through the open door, he’s greeted with a smile, one that’s sincerely happy to see him and makes the corners of Varric’s eyes crinkle and Garrett feels a little weak in the knees. It’s a little embarrassing how far gone he is for Varric, but no one needs to know about it but himself.

“So, I’ve been dying to know: what was going through your head when you fought that ogre?” Varric asks and that light, floaty feeling Garrett had been feeling is snuffed out like a candle, though he manages to keep his face from falling.

_(Cold sunlight, blood in the dirt, lifeless eyes and limp limbs, the earth poisoned and rotting underneath their feet. She’s dead before she even hits the ground. Not her – not any of them – it should’ve been him instead and oh good lord he can see bone—)_

The hint of concern that tinges Varric’s expression tells him he’s been silent too long. Time to deflect with humor; it’s one of Garrett’s many talents after all.

“For the first few seconds: _‘what do they feed those things?’”_

It’s enough to get a genuine laugh out of Varric, the dwarf’s face no longer being clouded by worry, though by the look in his eye, Garrett knows that Varric still caught his hesitation.

“I don’t know anyone else that’s even seen one. You’re lucky just to be standing here,” Varric says as Garrett drops down into one of the empty chairs at the table, the closest one to his friend. “Somehow, Hawke, I imagine things won’t be dull with you around. Not that I expect the Deep Roads to be boring, mind you. Constant threat of doom does tend to keep you awake.”

“A lot of things can keep you awake. I wouldn’t reach for the doom first,” Garrett quips as he leans back towards the bookshelves behind him, grabbing up a spare card deck and begins to shuffle it.

“Sure, I could have a cup of tea in the morning, but I hear it’s bad for you. I’ve spent my whole life in Kirkwall. Dangerous enough, most days, but it doesn’t compare to the Deep Roads. So, this will be… let’s just call it _‘an adventure,’_ I guess.”

“Ooh, I always wanted to be an adventurer. Speaking of adventures, I have to go see Clan Sabrae tomorrow. You want to come with?” Garrett asks as he deals out their hands.

“The Dalish? Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“It’s not as exciting as I’m making it sound. Just… holding up my end of a bargain.”

“Personally, I’m not one for the outdoors, but I’ll make an exception for you, Hawke.”

“You flatter me, messere. Speaking of adventures, what are the plans for the expedition?” Garrett asks as he draws another card from the deck; he’s thinking Diamondback tonight, now that he doesn’t have to contend with both Isabela _and_ Varric at once.

“Bartrand’s running the show. Andraste’s ass, he’d probably do that even if we weren’t paying for everything,” Varric grumbles as he discards two from his hand. “The thaig we’re looking for is supposed to be a week’s travel from the surface. So I hope you aren’t scared of the dark. We’ve got supplies, muscle, excavators… the plan is to carry out everything that’s not nailed down.”

Hmm… Garrett doesn’t like the look of the cards he has; he mostly has serpents and songs and a few daggers. “Speaking of your brother, is there anything in particular I should know about him?”

Varric seems to mull it over in his head for a few moments before answering.

“To understand Bartrand, you’ve got to understand the Dwarven Merchants Guild. These are dwarves who would sell their own mothers if they thought it’d get them a better share of the lyrium market.” Varric plays his hand. Shit, a house of Angels. Garrett shuffles again and signals Yvette for a couple of drinks when she makes her rounds of the private rooms again. “Anyone who deals with them has to sleep with a knife under their pillow. In my family, that’s Bartrand.”

“You know, I feel like you know more about me than I do about you,” Garrett says as he deals them a new hand. A part of him is regretting choosing Diamondback, should’ve stuck with Wicked Grace or Dead Man’s Tricks.

“You’re in luck! I am always willing to talk about myself to beautiful people,” Varric smirks at him and there’s that light, floaty feeling again. If Garrett’s not careful he might actually float away. Magic and all that. “My family came from Orzammar—noble House Tethras—until my father got caught fixing Provings.”

Garrett has a vague idea of what Provings are; arena fights if he recalls correctly, though he’s a little fuzzy on the details and if betting on them is legal or not. He does know that Castes come into somehow.

Yvette comes by with drinks and Garrett hands over a few coins; he lost the last round so he has to pay for the drinks this time. It’s a lot more manageable when there’s only two of them.

“He and our whole House got exiled,” Varric continues, drawing once from the deck. “No huge loss. I was born up here. Sunshine suits me just fine.”

“What do you do, though? Are you a merchant? A mercenary? An Antivan Dowager’s lover? Maybe even the head of a spy network?” Garrett jokes as he draws twice and discards once; he has a much better hand this time around.

Varric chuckles. 

“I am a younger son. It’s a difficult and dangerous profession. A lot of us die of boredom. Fortunately, being Bartrand’s younger brother keeps me on my toes. Maker knows he lacks subtlety.” They play their hands and it’s a draw. This time Varric shuffles the deck. “I’m the one who pulls strings to keep the Coterie out of our hair—keep us just a whisker ahead of the other families.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered,” a third voice pipes up and when they turn to look, it’s Anders. “Why is every surface dwarf a merchant or a smith?”

“You left out criminals and hired muscle,” Varric points out as he deals Anders in, who takes a seat across from Hawke.

“They don’t count.”

“We dwarves are drawn to shiny objects. Sort of like Magpies, but with business sense,” Varric quips and Garrett has to stifle a laugh at the look of disbelief on Anders’ face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Of course I am. We come to the surface with the skills our ancestors had, Blondie.” The two of them share a knowing look when Anders looks at what cards are in his hand; his face always gives him away. “You think there's a tradition of dwarf woodcutters in Orzammar? Bee keepers? Sailors?”

“Well, there could be mushroom growers and nug wranglers,” Anders says and his nose scrunches up in distaste when he draws from the deck. He must’ve gotten serpents. Or daggers. Maybe both.

“Orzammar will never let those people go topside. Too vital. Also, embarrassing.”

\---

Even when they go to the Dalish camp during the day they still get ambushed by giant spiders, although no one goes over the side of a cliff.

And it turns out that Clan Sabrae is the Hero of Ferelden’s clan, which makes sense why they’re here instead of across the Waking Sea; they fled here to escape the Blight, though why they’re still here instead of the land granted to them by King Alistair, Garrett has no idea. But then again, it’s not his business where they choose to live. 

He’s just here to deliver the amulet.

But, as it turns out, there’s more to it than that; apparently he has to take the amulet to an altar and the Clan’s First – Merrill – is supposed to do some sort of ritual for it.

When they go through the caves, Garrett begins to understand Varric’s distaste for the outdoors; there’s nothing good out here for them and the dead rise from the ground, though that second part is probably due to the fact that most of this side of Sundermount is an ancient burial ground.

\---

Merrill finishes reciting the ritual and then there’s swirling tendrils of light as Flemeth rises from the amulet.

Honestly not what Garrett was expecting.

“So refreshing to see someone keep their end of a bargain. I half-expected my amulet to end up in a merchant’s pocket!” Flemeth says with amusement in her voice.

 _Actually you almost ended up lost in the bottom of a trunk for forever,_ Garrett wants to say, but doesn’t.

“No one wanted to buy it. Maybe because it had a witch inside?” he says instead.

“Just a piece. A small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.”

A small piece of what? Who is Morrigan? All questions that Garrett doesn’t know the answer to and he suspects that even if he asked Flemeth she wouldn’t tell him. 

Again, not his business despite how maddeningly curious he is about it.

“You have plans, I take it?” Garrett asks.

“Destiny awaits us both, dear boy. We have much to do. Before I go, a word of advice? We stand on the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss,” Flemeth says cryptically as she turns to face the alter. Then she looks back at him over her shoulder. “Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”

She turns fully to face him once more. “It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

Flemeth stares at him without blinking, intense yellow eyes boring into his and Garrett feels an ominous dread though over what he can’t quite place.

“Cheap advice from a dragon,” Garrett quips out of habit more than anything else. Something he falls back on when he’s unsettled. Or upset. Or in a good mood. It’s his default to most things really.

“We all have our challenges,” Flemeth replies, a smile on her face like there’s a joke only she is in on. Garrett wonders if that’s her default as well.

“Are we going to regret bringing her here?” Carver asks and for a moment, Garrett had forgotten that Carver, Varric, and Aveline were here as well. 

“Regret is something I know well,” she says to Carver. “Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul. When the time comes for your regrets, remember me.”

Then Flemeth turns her attention to Merrill. “As for you, child, step carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut.”

“Ma serannas, Asha’bellanar.”

“Now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks…” Flemeth returns her focus onto Garrett and that strange sense of dread is back when she finishes with, “and my sympathy.”

He doesn’t know if she means she sympathizes with what happened to Bethany, or if she knows something he doesn’t. 

Might be a bit of both, actually. 

Flemeth turns away from them, body glowing as it morphs into a dragon and Garrett thinks back to that day during the Blight and they watch her fly away.

“That explains so much,” Varric says after a long, stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out there's probably going to be at least 1-2 more chapters of act one because i completely forgot about sebastian and a couple of other quests i want to include


End file.
